


On Broken Wing

by silbecoo



Series: A Whisper of Feeling [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:35:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9919073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silbecoo/pseuds/silbecoo
Summary: Cornered and running out options, Frank lets go of the last thing worth holding on to.





	

It was a mistake, all of it. Frank knew from the beginning, from the very moment he locked eyes with her in that dimly lit hospital room. 

And yet, he’d failed to push her away, again and again. At some point he’d stopped trying, falling into a tense partnership with the determined woman, watching as she put her neck out again and again for him, for herself. Hell, he shouldn’t have even told her about his latest mission, should have shook her off when he’d realized she was tailing him. 

But he hadn’t… He liked seeing that gleam in her eye when he gave her a juicy lead, liked watching her dig into some scumbag’s life like she was excavating buried treasure. He liked being the one she came to when she uncovered what she was looking for. Seeing her once in a while made his self imposed solitude bearable. 

But fuck if things hadn't gone completely to hell this time. And it wasn't anyone’s fault really, just a string of shitty coincidences that left the both of them wanted and on the run, Karen’s face plastered alongside his in the salacious rags littering the streets. Speculation abounded as to whether or not she was a willing companion of the Punisher or some poor damsel in distress, a hostage kept at gunpoint. He supposed it was a good thing no one else really knew Page like he did, or they would have found it impossible to believe that she'd let someone kidnap her without fighting tooth and nail every inch of the way. 

He knew the way it ended for him: die or disappear. Two choices that he didn't mind picking for himself, but not for her, not when there was still a chance she could come out of this with her reputation unscathed. 

He'd already failed her on one account, the bullet lodged in her shoulder an incessant reminder that they needed to end this escapade soon. He was a split second too slow, the distinct click of a rifle only registering in his brain after the trigger was pulled. He’d reached out, yanked her out of the line of fire l, but not quickly enough. 

He could still hear her sharp gasp of pain, feel the way she had crumpled against him, see the crimson bloom against her silk blouse. Thinking about it too much made it hard to clean his gun, fingers shaking… so he tried not to. 

She was lying not five feet away from him on an old army cot, brow glistening with sweat, mumbling feverishly in her sleep. The situation was untenable, something had to give. 

But Karen had snarled at him when he’d suggested dropping her off at the ER, the pain in her shoulder making her eyes wild. “And then what Frank? Tell them that a ruthless murderer kidnapped me and I instantaneously developed Stockholm Syndrome?” 

“It ain't that far from the truth.” 

That had pissed her off, earned him a couple hours of silent treatment. But really how far off was he? There was no logical reason that she should so vehemently insist that he was a good man. He was bad, evil even, parts of his soul shorn off a long time ago, the bullet track in his brain running through the centers for impulse control and empathy. It didn't matter if he had a code, if he only murdered bad men. It was still murder, and he still took very real pleasure in it, the only feeling left in his inky heart. If you asked him, he was barely human. 

Barely… the only time he questioned that assessment was when she touched him, her hands cool against his bruised skin, soft as they traced the lines of his back, his face. She lingered longer than necessary, they both knew it. Neither said a thing. In those moments he wondered if there were other things that could make him feel again. All he had to do was close his eyes and see his family lying dead on the ground, and he knew feeling was a bad idea. 

Karen whimpered, twisting in the blanket wrapped around her. Frank was at her side in a second, fingers instinctively brushing across her forehead, pushing away damp strands of blonde hair. It looked like her fever had temporarily broken, the meds he'd swiped on the way up to the cabin finally doing their job. 

He dropped his hand to her neck, checking her pulse. It thrummed faster than normal, a somewhat worrisome sign. The fever reducers did nothing for infection, and she would no doubt slip back as soon as they wore off. 

Her eyes opened, somewhat glassy, but missing the feverish glow of hallucination. Without a word he withdrew, moving to get a bottle of water, holding it for her as she drank. Weakly, she reached for him so he couldn't move away again. “We have to go, Frank. We've been here too long, someone’s bound to find us.” 

Struggling, she sat upright on the cot, fighting the covers tangled around her legs. One wrong move and she put all of her weight on her injured side, white hot pain taking her breath away. 

Gently, Frank righted her, softly shushing her efforts to speak again. “We’ll leave soon, don't worry.” 

It was a lie, at least partly, and Frank felt a sharp twinge of guilt as she settled back down to rest. _You never lie to me._

Neither of them had the energy to argue about this, so he made an executive decision. This was the end of their partnership. He couldn't figure out why it felt like he was cutting off a limb, why it seems he was shearing off another piece of his soul, why the fuck there was a dull ache in the back of his throat when he looked at her. 

Eventually she fell asleep, and Frank began to pack up. All of his weapons neatly reassembled and lined up in his duffle, extra ammo weighting the thing down. He collected the remnants of their supplies, food and medical, tucking them in a ratty backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. Quietly he went back and forth from the tiny cabin to the battered little pickup hidden in the trees until almost no sign of him remained. 

The handcuffs in his hand felt like they weighed a thousand pounds as he approached the little cot. He didn't want to do this, but he knew Karen Page wasn't the type so wait around to be rescued, and in her condition wandering out into the cold hills would mean certain death. 

On his knees beside the cot he checked her temperature one last time, still cool, and let his touch wander down to her wrist. He'd noticed before how finely boned she was, the silhouette of her long willowy arms and legs imprinted on his memory. He traced the bones of her wrist, hating that she would probably jerk against the cuffs, purple the pale skin in an effort to escape, to follow him. 

The cuff clicked shut around her wrist, and still she didn't wake up, not even batting an eyelash as frank moved her arm toward the wall. The other cuff clicked shut around a piece of exposed pipe, and that's when her eyes flew open. “Frank?” 

She jerked just like he thought she would. Frank winced. He should have cuffed the hand on her injured side so she would move as little as possible, but he couldn't bare the idea of her in pain. 

“Frank? What the hell is this?” 

He didn't answer, moving to stoke the fire. “Repeat after me Karen: ‘Frank Castle is a piece of shit and he kidnapped me.’ ” 

“What?” 

“Frank Castle is a piece of shit and he kidnapped me.” 

Her nostrils flared, anger coming out of every pore. “ _God damn it Frank, uncuff me right now!_ ” 

He moved back to her, brushing the hair away from her face. “Say it, Karen. ‘Frank Castle kidnapped me.’ “ 

She shook her head in refusal, angry tears spilling out over her cheeks. “You lied to me!” 

“I kidnapped you. I got you shot. I can't be responsible for your death. _I kidnapped you._.” His fingers trembled against her skin, long forgotten emotions bubbling up through his chest. “ _Please._ Say it.” 

She twisted away from his touch, spitting out at him, “This is bullshit, Frank!” 

Abruptly he let go of her, turning to the door. Hand on the knob he stopped one last time. “When I get down the mountain I'm going to call the cops and let them know you're here, injured. You'll tell them I kidnapped you. Everything will be fine. You'll be fine.” 

She yanked at the cuff again, hot tears streaming down her face. “Look at me! You betrayed me, Frank!” 

The door shut on her words, and Frank disappeared into the night, leaving behind the last shred of feeling left in his battered body.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about this. I feel incredibly rusty when it comes to writing fic, Kastle in particular, but I have several angsty prompts in my ask box and I hope to get to all of them. Let me know what you think! Comments make my day.


End file.
